


Eleven Stories Of The Human Hand

by Anonymous6285



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Childhood, Confusion, Drunkenness, Nail Polish, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29105952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous6285/pseuds/Anonymous6285
Summary: John starts to realise things about himself.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Nail Varnish

Mimi never had a tolerance for people messing with her things. Especially John. Ever since his mother had left him to live with her, he'd been much too curious about too many things. At six, he’d gotten into her records, scratching nearly half of the ones he'd gotten his hands on.

That day, John had heard his Uncle George quietly trying to calm her. Of course, she'd apologised the next day for yelling at him, and the three of them had gone out for ice cream.

She wasn't quite as generous the next time it happened, though… That time, he was eight, starting to become more intrigued, obsessed was a better word, with money. After learning he could buy his own records with it, he'd started stealing hers, because that was a lot easier than actually making the money himself.

This time, however, what he was messing with was a little more personal than things like that. For years of asking his aunt if he could use the colourful little paints she put on her long, shiny nails, he'd been denied access. "John, stop that!" she demanded when he got too close to the bottle, fearing he would knock it over.

"Can I have some?" he asked timidly, and she just sighed.

"No, sweetheart. You know nail varnish is only for girls. The boys in your class would just laugh at you."

"Oh ... "

Those words stayed in his mind, making sure that he knew he was never supposed to ever use it. Unless he wanted to be laughed at.

Until he met a boy named Stuart. Stuart had been wearing the same white varnish on his nails that Aunt Mimi had. And on his nails, it looked just as pretty. What was so wrong with boys wearing nail varnish?

'Your nails are pretty, ' he thought, too awkward to say it aloud. He wanted to ask if he could have some, but that probably wasn't the best thing to ask someone you didn't even know. So, instead, he got back from school that day and immediately sneaked right to the washroom in his aunt's room before she was home. Uncle George wasn't supposed to be home until later that night, so he didn't worry about him.

What he didn't expect, though, was for Mimi to walk right in the front door, and as soon as he heard the turn of the door knob, he nearly dropped the small glass bottle in his fifteen year old fingers. He ran out of her room and into his own, out of breath by the time she was up the stairs.

"John?" she called out, cracking open the door to find him lying on his bed, facing the opposite way of the door, trying to hide the varnish still in his hand. "Oh, god ... " Putting her arm up to cover her eyes as she heard the short breaths coming from his mouth, she sighed. "I'm so sorry, John. I should have knocked."

Immediately, his face reddened, slipping the bottle into his blanket and sitting up in his bed to let her know that he definitely wasn't doing what she thought he was.

"Mimi, I was just laying here. " She nodded with a fake smile plastered on her tired face.

"Still should have knocked," she muttered in reply, feeling a bit more relaxed about the situation. "What do you want for supper?" He shrugged in response. "I'll just make whatever your uncle wants, then, if you're going to be difficult about it."

"Wait, Mimi, you can make what you want. I'll really eat whatever." The smile on her face became a bit more real. At this point, he was just trying to put her in a good mood so that she was less likely to come in yelling at him later.

"Alright, Did you have a nice day?"

"Yeah. It was alright."

"I'm glad. I'll leave you be now. Get back to ... " She hesitated. ". .. laying in bed."

When she left the room, she shut the door back, and John grinned, unravelling the nail varnish from his bed and twisting it open right away. He knew he had to put it back as soon as possible, because Mimi was sure to notice it was missing if not, And if she found out he was painting his nails, she would have a fit. 

The smell hit him right away. He never would have imagined it would smell anything like THIS, so acidic for something so beautiful. He swallowed back the strange feeling it gave him and went right on to pulling the little brush out of the top, polish dripping back down the sides.

"Fuck!" he hissed, scooping it up with his finger to keep it from staining his bed sheets. Now smeared on his index and middle finger, it started to dry very quickly. He dropped the brush back into the bottle and got up to find something to wipe it off just as his door opened again. He swore Mimi had promised to knock from now on.

"John, I was thinking -- " Her words stopped when she saw him standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, one hand cupped under the other so that the polish wouldn't drip onto anything else. "It smells like nail varnish in here," she pointed out, and John smiled weakly.

"I'm sorry. I was going to put it back before you even knew it was gone." Keeping his eyes on the floor proved to be a very effective way to lessen the embarrassment.

"Why do you have it?" she asked, as if the answer wasn't obvious. "You aren't wearing it, are you?" Glancing down at his nails, she saw that there wasn't anything on them, and he used that to his advantage.

"Of course not!" His mind reeled at the many stories he could make up to help him here. "It's just something for school. But I should have just asked you to help me with it. "

"Do you need help?" He shook his head frantically. "You sure?"

"I'm already done with it. I was just about to bring it back to your room." And there went his one chance at painting his nails. If Mimi found him with it again, she definitely wouldn't let him get away with it.

She walked over to the bed and picked it up. "I'll bring it back for you. No worries. Oh, and could you meet me in the kitchen in a bit? I need your help with something."

"Of course," he replied cheerily, though he was anything but.

"Great!" And with one final nod, she was out the door.


	2. Hair

John knew the second Paul started to hobble out of his bedroom that this had been a bad idea. Sure, he had been eighteen for a couple months now and used that to his complete advantage when it came to alcohol consumption, already having gotten drunk plenty of times. But Paul was only sixteen, and by that age, John wasn't a stranger to it all. His younger friend, however, had grown up the perfect Catholic boy. That was the root of this entire problem.

His hair growing long was the only form of rebellion Paul had ever even dreamed of up until this point. His father detested not only the way it looked when he greased it up, but also that it fell well below his ears when he didn't do it up at all.

Now, the hair had become another problem. As he leaned over the toilet bowl just metres from his aunt, it hung too far in front of his pretty face.

"God, Paulie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even suggested this. I mean, if I had known you -- "

"No," the drunk boy protested, head still in the toilet. "No, I'm not a child! I'm sixteen!" He finally peeked his head up long enough to pout to his friend. It only made him look more childish.

"Macca, you're pissed," John whispered carefully, not wanting to hurt his feelings. "Are you done? Because," he hesitated, "I think we ought to get you to bed."

"That's not fair!" He dramatically stood up from the floor and collapsed against the wall, right next to John. "You're not my father."

"I can assure you that you'd much rather be drunk in front of me than your father. Or else, you probably wouldn't live long enough to ever see me again." John put an arm around Paul and started to lead him out of the room, leaning over to flush the loo so that his aunt didn't find it later.

"Please. I don't want to go to sleep. M'not tired ... "

John looked him over, seeing the sick drying on strands of his hair. "Y'know, I think we ought to clean you up a bit. Then you won't have to go to bed right away, like?" Paul glared at him. "Well, I'm not the one who threw up all over my luscious locks."

"Fine ... " he muttered, knowing that John was right.

“Great," John replied, already having the sink running. He grabbed a square of loo paper, soaking it underneath the faucet before bringing it over to Paul and using it to run through the ends of his hair. "You have really pretty hair. y'know."

"I know, " Paul replied cheekily, a small smile lighting up his mood. He hadn't expected John to say that, and he couldn't deny how it made him just a smidge happier.

It only took a minute, though, for John to finish, and Paul once again had to start to head to bed. John went to throw away the tissue, and he heard a small siffle behind him.

"Johnny?" After tossing it into the plastic bin behind the counter, he turned, and Paul stood, fiddling with his hands, eyes starting to become more and more red.

"You right, then?"

"Don't you think me dad's gonna kill me?" John sighed. His friend was obviously very upset about this.

"Love, your dad doesn't have to know. You're staying the night, remember?" Another sniffle sounded. "Well, he won't find out. I promise."

''He'll find a way. I'm sure of it."

"You're drunk as all hell, kid! There's no way you can be sure of anything in this state." Paul groaned at him, quickly wiping off a tear as it slipped out of his eye.

"And what if he does find out?" John cocked an eyebrow. "If he does, I'll never be allowed to see you ever again. I don't want that. You're my best friend! "

"Paul!" John shouted, cutting off his ramblings. "Hey. You're going to stay the night here, right? You're going to sleep it off, and you'll wake up in the morning feeling ... " He paused. "Well, you'll feel pretty shitty, actually, but you won't be drunk anymore. I'll go get some medicine now so that you can have it as soon as you wake up, too, like?"

The younger boy nodded. "Are you sure he won't know?"

"Unless you tell him, there's no way he could." Before opening the door to the hall, he took Paul's hand in his own. "You're going to be just fine, yeah?"

"Yeah." He squeezed John's hand back. "Yeah, just fine." Shyly looking down at the floor, he wiped off the last of his tears. "Sorry I overreacted like that. "

"It's fine. Remind me to never give you alcohol ever again, though, okay?" The younger nodded his understanding with an amused smile, and the  
two of them hurried down the hall towards his room.

"Are we sharing?" he then asked timidly, keeping his head hung low. "I mean, I can sleep on the floor if you want, but I was just wondering."

"There's no way I'm letting you stay on the floor all night, kid. We can share. As long as you're okay with that." Paul nodded faster than he ever had before.

"Of course! I mean that's definitely better than having to stay down there, so ... yeah." A blush crept up on his face, and John grinned.

"Alright. I'll go get you that medicine, yeah? Go ahead and get yourself comfortable. " He left the room, and by the time he was back, Paul was already asleep in his bed, hair scattered across the pillow and chest falling and rising in a slow rhythm. John swore his heart fluttered at that, and he didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.


End file.
